Are you a prince?’ Finn smiled ruefully. ‘I’m a Prisoner, old man. Just like you.’ They mounted and rode back as quickly as they could.
Claudia had given all the coins she had to the children.
Neither spoke. Finn was alert for another ambush, Claudia still brooding over the injustice of Era, her own unthinking acceptance of riches. Why should she be rich? She had been born in Incarceron. If it hadn’t been for the Warden’s ambitions she would be there still.
‘Claudia, look,’ Finn said.
He was staring through the trees, and glancing up at the alarm in his voice she saw a tall plume of smoke rising ahead.
‘It looks like a fire.’ Anxious, she urged her horse on. As they emerged from the forest and clattered under the barbican the acrid smell grew. Smoke filled the inner courtyards of the Palace and as they galloped in the wind was crackling. A frenzied army of ostlers and grooms and servants were running, dragging out horses and squawking hawks, hauling pumps, buckets of water.
‘Where is it?’ Claudia swung down.
But she could already see where it was. The whole ground floor of the East Wing was ablaze, furniture and hangings being tossed out of windows, the great bell ringing, flocks of disturbed doves flapping in the hot air.
Someone came up beside her and Caspar’s voice said, ‘Such a pity, Claudia. After all dear Jared’s hard work: The cellars. The Portal. She gasped, and raced after Finn. He was already at one of the doorways, black smoke billowing out into his face, flames flickering deep in the building. She grabbed him and he shook her away. Then she grabbed him again and hauled him back and he turned, his face white with shock. ‘Keiro! It’s our only way to him!’
‘It’s finished; she said. ‘Don’t you see? The ambush was to keep us away. They’ve done this.’ Following her gaze, he looked behind.
Queen Sia stood on the balcony, a white lace handkerchief to her face. Behind her, calm and unconcerned, his eyes on the collapsing crash of stone and flame, was the Pretender.
‘They’ve sealed the Portal,’ Claudia said bleakly. ‘And it’s not only Keiro. They’ve trapped my father Inside.’
16
A great Fimbulwinter will close down on the world.
Darkness and cold will spread from Wing to Wing. There will come one called the Unsapient, from far away, from Outside.
He wiIl plot and scheme with Incarceron.
They will make the Winged Man …
Attia, holding tight to Keiro on the horse, stared past his shoulder.
They had finally reached what seemed the end of the spiny jungle, because the road led out and downhill. The horse stood wearily, snorting frosty breath.
Framing the road was a black archway. It bristled with spikes, and on its top perched a long-necked bird.
Keiro frowned. ‘I hate this. Incarceron is leading us by the nose.’ She said, ‘Maybe it’ll lead us to some food then. We’ve eaten nearly everything.’ Keiro kicked the horse on.
As they neared it, the black arch seemed to grow, its massive shadow stretching out towards them until they entered its darkness. Here the road glittered with frost; the horse’s hooves rang with metallic clarity on the iron paving.
Attia stared up. The bird on the summit was enormous, dark wings spread wide, and just as she rode under it she realized it was a statue, and not of a bird but a man with great wings, as if he was ready to leap, and fly.
‘Sapphique,’ she whispered.
‘What?’
‘The statue . . . it’s Sapphique.’ Keiro snorted. ‘What a surprise.’ His voice doubled, echoing. They were well under the vault; it smelt of urine and damp, and green slime ran down its walls. She was so stiff she wanted to stop, to climb down and walk, but Keiro was in no mood to linger. Since they had spoken to Finn he had been silent and moody, his answers viciously sharp. Or he had ignored her altogether.
But then she hadn’t wanted to talk much either. Hearing Finn’s voice had been a sudden joy, but almost at once it had soured, because he had sounded so different, so full of anxiety.
I haven’t abandoned you. I think about you all the time.
Was that true? Was his new life really not the Paradise he’d expected?
In the darkness of the vault she said angrily, ‘You should have let me tell them about the Glove. The Sapient knew there was something. It might have helped...’
‘The Glove is mine. Don’t forget it.’
‘Ours.’
‘Don’t push me too far, Attia.’ He was silent a moment, then muttered, ‘Find the Warden, Jared said. Well, that’s just what we’re doing. If Finn’s failed us we have to look out for ourselves.’
‘So it wasn’t that you were scared to tell them,’ she said acidly.
His shoulders tightened. ‘No. It wasn’t. The Glove is none of Finn’s business.’
‘I thought oathbrothers shared everything.’
‘Finn has freedom. He isn’t sharing that.’ Suddenly they rode out from the archway, and the horse stopped, as if in astonishment.
In this Wing the light was a dull red. Below them was a hall larger than any Attia had ever seen, its distant floor crisscrossed by transitways and tracks. They were high in its roof, and from their feet a great curving viaduct carried the road across, so that Attia could see its arches and tapering columns disappearing into the mirk. Fires burned like tiny Eyes on the floor of the hail.
‘I’m stiff.’
‘Get down then.’ She slid from the horse and the road felt unsteady under her feet. She crossed to the rusty railing and looked over.
There were people down there, thousands of them. Great migrations of people, pushing trucks and waggons, carrying children. She saw flocks of sheep, a few goats, some precious cattle, the herders’ armour gleaming in the coppery light.
‘Look at this. Where are they all going?’
‘The opposite way to us.’ Keiro didn’t dismount. He sat tall, gazing down. ‘People are always moving in the Prison.
They always think there’s somewhere better. The next Wing, the next level. They’re fools.’ He was right. Unlike the Realm, Incarceron was always in a state of change; Wings were reabsorbed, doors and gates sealed themselves, steel bars sprang up in tunnels. But she wondered what cataclysm had caused such numbers to travel, what force drove them on. Was this the result of the dying light? The growing cold?
‘ Come on,’ Keiro said. ‘We have to cross this thing, so let’s get on with it.’ She didn’t like the idea. The viaduct was barely wide enough for a waggon. It had no parapets, just a surface potholed with rust and a gulf of air on each side. It was so high faint wisps of cloud hung unmoving across it.
‘We should lead the horse. If it panics …’ Keiro shrugged and dismounted. ‘Fine. I’ll lead, you come behind. Stay alert.’
‘No one’s going to attack us up here!’
‘That remark shows why you were a dog-slave and I was . . . almost . . . Winglord. This is a track,
